


Saving Simmons

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [17]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Child Abduction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Auror Simmons has never liked Team One, but when his daughter is kidnapped, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get her back.  If that means working with a group of techies and their new liaison, that’s what he’ll do.  Then another girl vanishes, leaving the fate of little Amanda Simmons in the balance.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the seventeenth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows “Anything for Family”.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

The night was cold and rainy, Aurors’ breaths misting as they moved into position to assault the small, one-story house. Ministry cursebreakers stood at each corner of the property, casting their spells in near unison; the wards of the house flickered, providing the only light in the damp, chill evening. The two primary assault teams, positioned on either side of the house, stood muttering amongst themselves, eyeing the house rather balefully.

With a final cast, the wards flared one more time, then died with a muted _crack_. The assault teams moved, one team ramming down the front door, the other demolishing the back door. Shouts of, “Aurors! Everyone down!” and, “Auror Strategic Response Unit! Hands in the air!” echoed around the house, bouncing between walls and back to the Aurors.

In another location, near to the now invaded house, but well hidden, a figure forced his two captives down the stairs of what looked like a crypt; one of the girls tried to scream for help and run, but the figure simply grabbed hold of the girl and dragged her along. The other girl tried to help, yelling at the figure to let them go, but the figure backhanded her into the wall and waited for her to get up, eyes glittering with glee at the terror the two girls were showing.

A tall, broad-shouldered Auror caught sight of something through the front window of the small house and departed, by himself, to check out what he’d spotted. He moved cautiously, but quickly, heading for a dim building on the adjacent property. As he reached the property, he crouched, his eyes going hard at the sight of blood drops on the steps leading downwards.

He descended into the darkness, the flashlight on his sidearm providing enough light to see by. The crypt had several sets of stairs, but they all led to the same location, a chamber close to two stories underground, with a macabre alter and grotesque statues. As he entered the chamber, he stepped on bones; looking down, he grimaced at the piles of small animal skeletons under his boots and around him. A flash of something that wasn’t bones caught his eye and he turned, shining his flashlight onto what looked like clothing. Holding his breath, he approached, letting it out as two little girls looked up at him.

“Easy, girls, you’re safe now,” he soothed, getting close and taking a good look at the pair. Dirt and grime marked their little faces, blood spotting the older girl’s face. The younger was frightened, but physically unharmed.

Movement made the big man whirl, bringing his gun back up, and he gaped at the figure that stood in front of him, malice in the figure’s eyes and an odd, triumphant gleam. The figure smirked, lifting a wand with a single, casual motion.

“You.”


	2. A New Liaison

_57 hours earlier (3 days earlier)_

Team One was relaxing in the briefing room after yet another successful hot call, this one magic-side. Ever since the hot call that had resulted in the death of their first Auror liaison, the Auror Division had been much quicker to call Team One in if they had a problem; for most of the Aurors, Team One had proved their mettle and skill, as well as their willingness to mix magic in when needed. Of course, most of the calls weren’t that hard, as far as Team One was concerned; some of them wouldn’t have even _gotten_ a Team One call out if they’d been tech-side.

Today’s call had been a mixed bag. Parts had been easy, almost _too_ easy, but that had been offset by the need to keep the subject from bolting tech-side with his Veela captive as well as coordinating with the on-scene Aurors, some of whom still only respected orders from a _magical_ Auror. If Greg Parker had had more hair, he would have been tearing it out trying to get his point – that the Aurors _needed_ to cover the gateways – across to the thick-skulled patrol Aurors.

As a result, while most of Team One kicked back and enjoyed a late lunch, Greg was making notes, trying to figure out how to get around the rather permanent problem of Team One’s lack of magic or, failing that, getting the Auror Division to assign a new liaison to his team. The other part of his notes was an attempt to come up with something for Commander Holleran, who didn’t like – at all – that his top team went on calls that were ‘too classified’ for him to know about; he was starting to demand that Greg give him a, in his words, “half-way decent explanation that _doesn’t_ include the word ‘classified’ at all, Sergeant Parker.”

“So…” a voice drawled from the doorway, “This is how the best of the best kick back.” Team One looked up to see a man they hadn’t seen in well over two years. With slicked back black hair, a glint in light gray eyes, and a smug smirk on his face, Auror Anderson stood in the doorway. He wore the typical Auror trenchcoat and had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat; there was a lazy look about his stance and his lean face held a touch of amusement.

As Greg looked up at the man, there was a slight raise in the hair on the back of his neck, a nudge of warning. With the briefing room door open, Greg greeted him with a cheerful, “Constable Anderson, what brings you to the station?” The SRU Sergeant set his notes aside, noting a flash of something in Anderson’s eyes, there and gone too fast to identify.

Anderson took a step forward, getting inside the briefing room proper, and cast a pointed look back at the door. Sam, close by, stood and tapped the controls to bring the door down; Anderson waited until it was down before speaking again. “What with all the guff you lot got today, Madame Locksley thinks it’s time you got a new liaison that the boys on the street will listen to.” Team One bristled a bit; yes, there’d been some static, but they’d gotten the on-scene Aurors to cooperate, to help the team stop the subject without any shots – or spells – fired. Anderson, not seeming to notice he’d insulted them, moved on, adding, “I figured maybe you’d prefer a familiar face, see how it goes.”

“You volunteered?” Sam questioned, a wary light in his eyes as he tracked the Auror.

A casual shrug. “Someone had to,” Anderson observed. “Step in, take over where Brian left off.” Again, his tone, almost flippant, rubbed Team One wrong, their eyes hardening at his disregard for the fallen Auror. Snagging a free chair, Anderson surveyed Team One. “Seeing as we’ll be working together, I thought I’d drop by, reintroduce myself…get to know all of you.” He smiled at them, his expression open and earnest.

Team One traded looks, none of them _pleased_ by the choice for their new liaison, but then, they hadn’t been all that happy back when Brian had volunteered to become their liaison for a second time and _he’d_ worked out, posthumously earning unofficial member of the team status. So Greg Parker stood, offering a hand to the Auror. “Welcome aboard then, Auror Anderson.”

Anderson shook Parker’s hand, a satisfied look on his face. “Thank you, Auror Sergeant Parker.”

* * * * *

The rest of their day was slow, training and workouts with a plan to drill the next day if they didn’t get a hot call. Anderson chose not to depart after reintroducing himself to the team; instead he hung around, asking questions, both professional and personal. Ed answered the professional and breezed over the personal, making it clear that personal was off limits. Wordy, wanting to make their new liaison welcome and less naturally suspicious than his best friend, answered the personal questions, telling Anderson about his family with a touch of pride, even showing the Auror a picture of himself and his girls and pointing out each girl with a father’s pride and pleasure ringing in his voice.

Anderson studied the picture for several moments after Wordy finished, a wistful look on his face. “Never could settle down,” he mused aloud, “But it sure sounds nice.”

Wordy chuckled as he put the picture away in his locker. “Believe me, it’s the best,” he replied. “I wouldn’t trade my girls and Shelley for anything.” Leaning against his locker for a moment, he considered, then offered, “Hey, how about I show you around, introduce you to the rest of the station?”

Anderson cocked his head, looking startled and caught off guard. “But I’m working with your team, right?” A shrug. “Why would I need to know the rest of the station?”

Wordy’s smile faded; this was reminding him, sharply, of how Brian had been in the beginning. At least Anderson hadn’t yanked the kids out of school to act as a buffer between himself and Team One. Yet. “Okay, well,” he shrugged back, “If you change your mind, let me know.” Then he headed out of the locker room as Anderson stared at his back, then turned his attention to the brunet’s locker, a thoughtful look on his face.

* * * * *

Jules and Sam greeted the Auror with his cover rank, Jules’ eyes sparkling with her enjoyment of the day thus far and Sam doing his best to keep from staring at his ex-girlfriend. After the City Hall Sniper, Sarge had dropped the hammer, telling them that the rules were there for a reason and they could either break up or one of them would have to transfer to another team. Anderson noticed the tension, but politely didn’t comment on it; instead he asked them many of the same personal questions he’d already asked Ed and Wordy, with a scattering of professional questions mixed in. Sam, still on edge from the briefing room snubs, kept his answers short and to the point; Jules revealed that she had no close family in town without a qualm. The Auror noted their answers and attitudes; then he took the effort to placate Sam after his inadvertent insults, but, once again, declined any offers to introduce him to non-Team One personnel.

As he departed, Jules threw a frown at Sam. “Is it just me, or is he acting a _lot_ like Brian did in the beginning?”

Sam shrugged. “I came in right at the end, remember? But, yeah, I know what you mean Jules. If he wants to work with us, he’s going to have to meet our dispatcher at some point.”

Jules considered. “First day, I guess we shouldn’t be _too_ hard on him.”

“Yup,” Sam agreed. Then his eyes lit. “What are you thinking?”

With a smirk, Jules leaned her elbows on the table. “Oh, nothing much…whipped cream, that kind of thing.”

* * * * *

Spike and Lou were the last two on Anderson’s list; accordingly, he plied them much as he had the other Team One members, mixing personal and professional questions. Lou answered the questions as he worked on inventory, making sure the team had everything restocked and organized. Spike, helping him out, was a bit guarded, unwilling to share his current family troubles with a perfect stranger.

Despite the reticence, Anderson soon established that neither had any family in town beyond their parents, both sets of whom had no idea their sons were involved in the magical world. For a third time, Anderson declined an offer to show him around and introduce him to the other men and women who worked at the station. He did, after a glance around, use his wand to return the boxes Lou was finished with to their places. Then he departed, satisfied smile still on his face.

Lou waited until the door shut to shake his head at Spike. “If any of that had been electronics…”

“I hear ya,” Spike agreed. “He could’ve fried it and he didn’t even ask first.”

Lou leaned against the table, a frown crossing his face. “I don’t know, Spike. We need a new liaison, but something about him’s rubbing me the wrong way.”

Spike stopped his sorting to look up at his friend. He looked at the door, then back at Lou. “It _is_ just the first day,” he observed.

“So give him a chance?”

“Yeah.” With that and twin shrugs, the two got back to work.

* * * * *

Greg considered the Auror as he departed the station, not even glancing towards Winnie as she called a farewell. Something was bugging him about the man, a nagging instinct that the veteran negotiator and investigator was learning not to disregard. Beyond his instincts, he was a bit…suspicious…that Auror Anderson, beyond his initial arrival, hadn’t asked _him_ any questions. Why his entire team and not him? And why had he given everyone who didn’t know about magic the cold shoulder? After a few moments, Greg decided: he’d give Auror Anderson a fair chance, but he _would_ be keeping an eye on the man.


	3. Jealousy, Hate, and Control

The small house was well warded and sat far away from any potential neighbors. The neighborhood had long since learned that the house’s owner preferred his peace and quiet; preferred to avoid contact with anyone else, regardless of whether it was the elderly gossip or the eager trick-or-treaters on Halloween. The property was neat with a small white picket fence and the usual flower gardens and bushes common for that neighborhood. Rumor held that the owner was a hunchback who hid in his home much like Quasimodo in Notre Dame. Not a single person had ever met the owner and the house’s wards kept even the young punks away from the single-story home.

The owner was quite aware of his reputation with his neighbors, not that he cared; in truth, he _preferred_ that none of them bothered him. It made his life much easier, much pleasanter, not having to deal with the Muggle… _rabble_. If he could have afforded housing in one of Toronto’s magical neighborhoods, he would have moved in an instant, but he’d never risen high enough…never saved enough to make that possible.

Inside his home, he studied the pictures in his study, a heavy scowl crossing his face as he regarded the images. Many of the images featured an older, silver-haired man who was unaware of being photographed. In one, silver-hair waved to a coworker, a smile across his face; in another, he spoke quite seriously with his… _pets_. The photographer resisted the impulse to pull the photos down and rip them in half; how _dare_ Wilkins bring a flock of _Muggles_ into their world, how _dare_ he overturn _centuries_ of tradition, bring about things their world neither needed nor wanted? At least the blood-traitor was dead; though the funeral had driven the photographer into a simmering, furious froth. The dead _Muggle-lover_ had been heaped high with praise, glory, and granted a posthumous _Order of Merlin!_ He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve _any_ of it! Magic flared as its owner fumed all over again at the utter _injustice_ of _Saint_ Wilkins getting all the attention, all the favor, all the _credit_.

The man forced himself to calm down, to keep from burning his Muggle home down around his ears. Instead of raging and fuming, he turned to the second set of images, a malicious grin curving his jaw and a dark glint in his eyes. Wilkins’ precious legacy: the _Muggles_ he’d brought into their world and given free rein to. Ever since the blood-traitor’s death, the bloody _Muggles_ had become the darlings of the Auror Division, called in for every little thing…it was outrageous and it was _all Wilkins’ fault!_ Again, the furious man forced himself to calm down, reminding himself that Wilkins was dead, that Wilkins couldn’t protect – or save – his little _pets_ now.

And what _fun_ it would be, to make the _Muggles_ look as ridiculous and pathetic as they truly were. The man’s eyes gleamed with delight at the very thought. One photo…a _Muggle_ photo…caught his eye and he leaned in closer, examining the image. Yes…yes…it would work, he decided, a smile of vicious anticipation spreading.

He looked toward the third corner of his study, gaze resting on the images featured there. It was a shame that he would have to start with _her_ , _she_ was a delightful creature, but it was…necessary. Besides, _her_ father was becoming nearly as big a _Muggle-lover_ as Wilkins had been, torn with guilt over his co-worker’s death and his own role in calling the Muggles in on that fateful day. Time to teach _her_ father that associating with _Muggles_ always, always, _always_ ended badly.

The man toyed with the idea of simply killing _her_ and leaving _her_ in the Muggles’ precious station for them to find, but it was…unsatisfying…unfulfilling. What was the point if he couldn’t _play_ with his opponents, couldn’t force them to engage him on his terms? He studied _her_ picture again, considering his options, then cocked his head to the side as he remembered something from a year prior.

He’d…arranged…to get hold of the transcript from when little Alanna Calvin was kidnapped and he’d immediately noticed just how close to the edge the Muggles had been until they’d gotten her back. He considered trying to get at the young redhead, but discarded the idea at once…the redhead was far too old to engage his interest for long. Instead, he walked to one section of his pictures and plucked a photo down, looking down at the image; then summoned the picture of _her_ to examine. He held both pictures up, studying them closely.

Laughter rang out as he realized he had the _perfect_ plan; the _Muggles_ would _never_ catch him and the Aurors? They were far too dependent on the pathetic _Muggles_ now; they’d never catch him either. Still laughing, he looked at the last image of Brian Wilkins…the silver-haired Auror speaking with his _Muggle_ Team One. “Now who’s the best, huh? I’ll tear down everything you ever _touched_ , old _friend_. When I’m done, no one will even remember your _name_ , much less your pathetic _pet Muggles!_ ”

* * * * *

The man smiled to himself as he strolled into the primary school; it was so _convenient_ to have unfettered access to _her_ away from _her_ father’s notice. Even better, _she_ had _her_ father’s disdain for the new magical primary schools, which meant _she_ would be eager to leave with him.

He avoided the notice of the teachers with the ease of long practice; they would only delay his purpose, his game. It was simplicity itself to find _her_ classroom and wait patiently for the teacher to dismiss the young children for a ‘recess’; he sneered at the _Muggle_ concept…so easily adopted by the sheeple. _She_ spotted him as _she_ went to retrieve _her_ coat; _her_ smile lit up the room and he smiled back at _her_ , waving for _her_ to come to him.

_She_ bounced over, smile wide, _her_ eyes shining with delight. “What are you doing here?”

He laughed, softly. “I need a reason to visit one of my favorite girls?” he teased _her_.

_She_ blushed, shifting coyly. “Daddy says I’m your _only_ girl,” _she_ replied, innocent as only a child can be.

He crouched down, on _her_ level, his own smile going wider. “Your Daddy’s right,” he admitted. “You’re the only girl for me.” As _her_ blush deepened, he held out a hand. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Slipping _her_ hand into his; he thrilled at the feel of _her_ small hand in his own; _she_ asked, “What is it? Tell me, tell me!”

“It’s a _secret_ ,” he informed _her_ , leading _her_ towards the door. “One you’ll _love_ and your father too.”

_Her_ eyes grew wide. “Is it something to do with Daddy’s job? He never tells me about it.”

His chuckle was deep, his eyes dancing with hidden knowledge. “Believe me, little one, this has _everything_ to do with your Daddy’s job.”

The pair left through the school’s side door, unnoticed by the teachers and the few milling parents. Once far enough away from the school to avoid the notice of the school’s protective wards, the man Side-Along Apparated the little girl to his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As everyone knows, next Tuesday is Halloween 2017. Some of you may remember that last year, I posted my very first Side-Story on Halloween (Samhaine). I was tempted to suspend next Tuesday's update in favor of this year's Halloween story, but I decided against it. Instead, consider this a shameless plug for "Samhaine, Redux" and a warning that, on Halloween, I'll post the next chapter of "Saving Simmons" first, then post "Samhaine, Redux".


	4. What's an Amber Alert?

The man running through the offices of the Auror Division was well-known to all the Aurors present as a calm, steady Auror with a talent for dogging criminals and solving cases, regardless of how many toes he stepped on in the process. He was one of the Auror ‘Old Guard’ and fiercely believed in keeping the Auror Division to mostly purebloods, with a smattering of half-bloods. As such, he’d been among the most vehement against the Auror Strategic Response Unit and, even now, over a year after the unit’s creation, still believed that depending on Muggles was asking for trouble.

Auror Nathanial Simmons _running_ through the Auror Division was unheard of; most of the younger generation started looking for cover, believing that they were about to be attacked – Auror Simmons _never_ panicked and _never_ ran, unless it was after a fleeing suspect. The youngest Aurors whispered to each other that if Simmons ever found himself in the path of a tornado, he would blink and order his men to find brooms. But the man who pushed through the office, actually knocking aside chairs, desks, and coworkers, was utterly panic-stricken, his expression desperate in a way that none had ever seen before. He shoved one last co-worker out of his path and slammed through the door to Madame Locksley’s office.

Inside, Madame Locksley’s expression was startled, annoyed. Behind her monocle, her eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself, Simmons,” she snapped.

The look her veteran Auror gave her was one she’d never seen on him before. The look of a man who has no idea what he’s gotten himself into and no idea how to get out of it. “My daughter,” he gasped out, struggling to regain his breath. “The school flooed…she’s missing!”

“Oh, Merlin…” Locksley breathed, annoyance fleeing at her Auror’s report. Then she straightened. “Have you received any contact from whoever might have taken her?”

“None, ma’am; I just got off the floo a minute ago.”

Locksley summoned her Patronus and sent it off with a brisk message. “I’ve just summoned the Aurors who specialize in kidnappings, Simmons.” She pointed at her chair and added, “Sit down before you fall down.”

As the stricken father sat, an Auror he hadn’t noticed in his entrance spoke up. “There is another option, ma’am…besides just the kidnapping unit.”

Locksley arched a brow. “That may be so, Auror Anderson, but don’t think I haven’t noticed just how many times we could have handled things, but still called in Team One.” She shook her head. “They _do_ have other duties…and a superior who is becoming unhappy with the secrets his team is keeping from him. For now, we will keep this in-house.” Her attention switched back to Simmons. “Nathanial…” she began, then softened, “Nathan. We’re going to do whatever we have to in order to get Amanda back safely.”

Without looking up at his superior, Nathan Simmons nodded. His eyes were focused on his hands, which he’d clasped so tightly together that his knuckles were white. Eyes so deep brown that they were almost black blinked, keeping back tears. Amanda…his little Amanda…was his pride and joy; the miracle child he and his wife had never expected to have. She had his eyes, his smile…and her mother’s beautiful hair and looks. The Auror struggled to keep his breathing even, to keep from hyperventilating as he raked his hands through light blond hair. Sitting in the chair, he looked even smaller than he really was, which was small enough already; he barely hit the minimum height for an Auror.

He didn’t even look up as two of the Aurors who handled kidnappings rushed into the office; Madame Locksley relayed the initial details. Then she focused on him again. “Nathan?”

He looked up, already numb. His throat worked, but no words escaped.

“Is there anything else you know right now?” his superior asked him gently.

Considering, he tilted his head to the side, trying to think. “Amanda’s careful,” he informed his coworkers. “I don’t bring work home, but she knows to be cautious, to never go with strangers. If someone had tried to snatch her, she would have screamed, fought back… _something_.”

Madame Locksley inclined her head. “So, someone she knew?”

He shrugged. “Or someone with enough authority that she didn’t question it.”

“Quite,” his boss agreed.

Auror Anderson cleared his throat. “I understand your point about calling in the Muggles, ma’am, but I really do think we should use _all_ of our resources on this one; Amanda deserves no less.”

The woman behind the desk considered, her eyes shifting between the eager Anderson, her grave investigators, and, finally, the father who raised pleading eyes to her. “Nathan? What do _you_ want? I know you’ve never really liked them…”

“No,” he interrupted. “Call them; if there’s even a chance that they can…” he trailed off, giving an audible gulp. “I’ll do whatever I have to do; she’s my daughter.”

“Very well,” Madame Locksley decided. Her gaze shifted to Auror Anderson and she almost spoke, then paused, considering. Then she opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved a Muggle fellytone. She played with the object, finally lifting it to her ear and waiting several seconds. “Good afternoon, Sergeant Parker,” she greeted. “I’m afraid we have another hot call for you and your team…”

* * * * *

Greg Parker was off the phone and out of the briefing room in moments; sharply, he ordered Winnie, “Hot call, we’ve got a child abducted from her primary school.”

Winnie hit the alarm. “They called you, sir?”

“The father’s boss did,” Greg confirmed. Winnie gave him an unhappy look and Greg made a snap decision. As Eddie raced into the atrium, Greg shifted his attention to his team leader and ordered, “My locker, Eddie…get an Official Secrets Act authorization out of there.”

Ed Lane skidded to a stop, looking between a now wide-eyed Winnie and his grim boss. “Copy that, Boss.” He raced out again, angling for the locker room at a full run.

“Sarge?” Winnie asked, confused and plaintive.

Greg shook his head. “This one’s not going to be easy, Winnie; we need you onboard and fully briefed. But you’ll have to wait for Eddie to get back with that form.” He considered her gravely. “For now, start getting the Amber Alert set up: Amanda Simmons, ten years old, brown eyes, light brown hair, last seen at her primary school.”

“Which school?” Winnie questioned as her fingers flew, filling in details as her boss rattled them off.

“School name will have to be withheld,” Greg replied apologetically. “You’ll see why in a minute. Say that it’s a private school in Midtown. Father is Inspector Nathanial Simmons. No ransom demands so far, but they only discovered her missing ten to fifteen minutes ago.”

“Any possible connection to his cases? Is the kidnapping personal?” Winnie inquired, cocking her head.

“Unknown,” came the admission as Ed reappeared with a paper, pen, and clipboard. The rest of Team One was gathered around her desk, absorbing the details Greg was reeling out.

At the sight of the paper, Sam’s eyes widened. “Boss, are you sure?”

“Yes, Sam, I’m sure,” Parker said flatly, taking the clipboard from his team leader and offering it to Winnie. “Winnie, read that; don’t just sign it.”

She might have protested, but for the look in his eye. Instead, she read through the form and its fine print as quickly as she could. Even after reading it all, she still didn’t see what was so secret about any of this, though Team One was watching her, eyes wary and cautious. With a tiny shrug, she signed the form, her signature looping across the bottom of the page.

Her boss took the clipboard and passed it off to Ed without even looking at her signature. “Is your headset recording, Winnie?”

Winnie blinked, then took the headset off and disconnected it from the computer. “No, sir.”

He gave her a nod of approval. “Remember the subjects that killed several people in Midtown and blew up a corner store?”

Winnie tilted her head, confused. “Yes, sir, I do.” Thinking back, she remembered several of the…oddities Kira had shared with her about that case. The sticks, the word ‘Muggle’, and even the robes the subjects had been wearing. “What about them, sir?”

Greg Parker sighed. “Winnie, the subjects in that case were wizards and so was Inspector Wilkins. Magic is real and there’s a hidden community of wizards right here in Toronto.”

For several moments she thought she’d misheard; an involuntary giggle escaped. “Sir, you can’t be serious. This is a joke, right?” Why was he joking with a little girl missing?

But her boss wasn’t laughing and neither were any of Team One’s members. “Winnie, I know magic being real is hard to believe and I wish we could prove it to you here and now, but we can’t. Now, ‘Inspector’ Simmons is actually _Senior Auror_ Simmons and his daughter goes to Toronto’s First Magical Primary.” Winnie’s eyes widened at the school’s name, though she was puzzled by the ‘Senior Auror’ rank.

She looked at the other Team One officers; they were giving her encouraging looks, they believed all of what Sarge was saying. “We’re going to start with him, he works at Toronto’s Auror Division headquarters, so for now, you’re the only member of my team ‘in the know’ tech-side.” _Tech-side?_ “After that, we’re probably going to go to the girl’s school and see if any of her classmates spotted her abduction or if they’ve seen anyone hanging around.”

Winnie considered Team One, struggling to take in the shock of information. “They called you directly…because you know about magic?”

“Yes.”

She could tell there was more; more she didn’t know and he didn’t have time to tell her. But every second counted in an abduction scenario, so instead of demanding details, she nodded firmly and put her headset back on. “You can count on me, sir.”

Sarge’s smile lit the atrium. “Thanks, Winnie. Once this is over, you can ask as many questions as you want and I’ll do the paperwork to add you to the magic-side SRU.”

“Copy that, sir.” _I hope you have a couple of hours free, Sarge._

* * * * *

By the time Team One arrived at the Toronto Auror Division, an entire area had been set aside for the already high-powered investigation. Aurors hurried in and out of the area, bringing files, news, and muttering to each other. The magical world was small enough that kidnappings like this one were largely unknown, hence the reason that only a few Aurors were trained in kidnappings and the like. Oh, it _could_ and _did_ happen, but by and large, the magical Aurors saw far more…ordinary…crimes than their tech counterparts.

Greg rapped out orders to the milling Aurors, demanding maps of the city, magical or not, he didn’t care, and sending one Auror for the phone in Madame Locksley’s office so he could connect the Auror Command Post to Winnie at the SRU. They scattered, Anderson in the back looking rather bemused at his coworkers for following the techie’s orders so rapidly. Greg didn’t give their new liaison more than a passing glance as he closed in on Madame Locksley and a grief-stricken Auror Simmons.

“Madame Locksley, Auror Simmons,” Greg greeted soberly. He focused on Simmons. “We’re going to do everything we can to get your daughter back to you safely, Auror Simmons.” Very gently, he asked, “How are you doing?”

Simmons erupted, as Greg had expected he would. “My daughter is missing! How do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“Nathan,” Locksley chided, only to stop at Parker’s uplifted hand.

Greg shifted so he was looking the seated man in the eye. “I hear you, I hear you. You’re not going to be fine until she’s back in your arms, safe and sound. I’ve been there…Alanna may not be my daughter, but she’s as close as can be; she was kidnapped a little over a year ago and I felt a lot like you do now. We got her back and we _are_ going to find Amanda and bring her home, too.” Shifting his attention and speaking to both, Greg informed them. “We have an Amber Alert out, so even if this guy goes tech-side, we’ll find out about it.”

Nathanial Simmons peered up at the techie Sergeant and queried, rather plaintively, “What’s an Amber Alert?”


	5. Searching for Amanda

As always in cases like this one, tips flowed in, both magical and tech. Most of them weren’t as helpful as the callers had hoped, but each one had to be checked out and investigated. The tech-side tips were handled by the uniforms Winnie was coordinating with, while the magic-side tips were handled by the patrol Aurors, leaving Team One free to investigate young Amanda’s school and interview her classmates. Lou stayed at the Auror Division, acting as Team One’s link to Winnie and vice versa, while Anderson was sent on the more promising magic-side leads with orders to report back if he found anything.

Spike and Wordy proved to be the best of the team at relating to Amanda’s classmates, with Jules a close second. Greg sent Ed and Sam to trace, as best they could, the possible routes in and out that their subject could have used; he interviewed the teachers and parents while his team handled the children.

* * * * *

Spike found himself sitting next to one particularly curious little girl, a little blond-haired, blue-eyed child named Ashley Garret. “So,” he asked the little girl, “You know Amanda?”

Ashley smiled as widely as she could, showing off a small gap in her front teeth where she’d recently lost a baby tooth. “Amanda is my bestest friend in the whole, wide world!”

Spike smiled right back, giving her every bit of his own enthusiasm. “Your bestest friend, huh? I bet you two are really close,” Ashley’s head nodded so fast and hard that Spike was half-afraid it would fall off, “and that’s good. ‘Cause Amanda really, really needs your help right now, okay?”

A puzzled look. “I can help Amanda?” She gave Spike a _very_ skeptical eyebrow lift and tilt of her head.

“Well…” Spike began, “I’m an Auror and my job is to help people in danger and right now, Amanda’s in a lot of danger. You can help her by telling me everything you remember about why Amanda left and who she left with.”

Ashley took this in, considering Spike’s words. “Do you have a badge, if you’re an Auror?”

“Sure do,” Spike chirped, pulling his badge out. “Let me guess, Amanda told you to always ask to see an Auror’s badge?”

The little girl took the badge, examining it closely. “Amanda’s Daddy told us that,” she informed Spike. “He said some bad wizards try to lie and _say_ they’re Aurors, even if they ain’t.”

Spike grinned, imagining his Mamá’s reaction to the little girl saying ‘ain’t’. “That sounds like a really good rule, Ashley. Amanda’s Daddy is right; some bad guys try to pretend they’re Aurors so they can trick people and hurt them.” As Ashley offered his badge back, he asked again, “So, can you tell me what happened today?”

Ashley pulled a lock of hair down, chewing on it absently. “It was recess time; Amanda’s Daddy doesn’t like the word ‘recess’, so Amanda doesn’t like recess either. She tries to stay inside and read, but Mrs. Williams won’t let her.”

“So, was she trying to stay inside today?” Spike questioned.

The little girl shook her head. “A man came; she knew him.”

“She knew him?”

Ashley nodded with all the gravity a ten-year-old could muster. “He said she was his favorite girl.”

“Then what?”

“Amanda put her jacket on and he took her away; they were smiling as they left. I thought maybe Amanda’s Daddy sent him to get her.”

Spike nibbled on his lip, then asked, “Ashley, did the man talk to your teacher before they left?”

Ashley shook her head. “No, and they left the secret way. No teachers know about it, just us kids.”

“Just you kids, huh?” Spike inquired.

A shy, sly smile was cast in his direction.

“Can you show me?” Spike requested.

Ashley looked up at him, surprised. “You want to see the secret way?” She cocked her head to the side. “Will you tell the teachers?”

“I don’t know,” Spike replied, “If I don’t have to, I won’t, but the secret way might not be as safe as you think.” When Ashley hesitated, Spike prodded her with, “Don’t you want to help Amanda?”

That decided the little girl. “I show you, Auror Spike.”

* * * * *

Greg frowned as he ushered Auror Simmons into Madame Locksley’s office and closed the door behind them. “Could you check the room?” he requested, glancing around.

Simmons cast him an arch look at the subtle reminder that Parker couldn’t do magic; Greg ignored the look, but did consider the reappearance of Simmons’ normal attitude a good thing. Much better for Simmons to find his feet than sit there, in shock and unable to help in the search for his daughter. Simmons triggered his wand holster, his wand flying into his hand and he quickly cast several detection spells around the office. Greg noticed that nothing glowed, but waited for his Auror counterpart to finish casting before speaking. Simmons angled his wand at the office door, casting, “ _Silencio Locus_ **(1)**,” before inclining his head. “No one will overhear us now, Sergeant Parker.”

“Good,” Greg said flatly. He had a few nasty suspicions; maybe he was wrong, but right now, he wasn’t taking any chances. “Auror Scarlatti spoke to one of Amanda’s classmates, an Ashley Garret. Do you know her?”

“Yes, of course,” Simmons replied, brow furrowing in confusion. “She’s one of my daughter’s best friends. Why?”

Greg allowed a brief sigh. “According to Ashley, Amanda knew her abductor and left with him willingly. _Personally_ knew him,” he added at Simmons’ skeptical look.

Simmons sat down in one of the office chairs heavily, burying his face in his hands. “What else?” came from between Simmons’ hands.

Parker rested a hand on Simmons’ shoulder, waiting a moment for the father to compose himself. “The rest is not surprising; the subject avoided all of the teachers, even going so far as to use an exit that the children have kept secret from their parents and teachers. Who would your daughter know well enough to go with?”

Simmons considered for several minutes, turning over ideas in his mind; Greg waited patiently. “Anyone on my squad,” Simmons finally announced. “But there are also several Aurors outside of my squad who’ve helped my wife and I out with Amanda a time or two.”

“Family members?” Greg queried, ignoring the sheer outrage on Simmons’ face. “Any uncles, cousins?”

Simmons swallowed the outrage and answered, mostly calm. “No. I have two sisters, but they live in the United States. My parents are dead, as are my wife’s parents. She’s an only child.”

Greg nibbled his lip, thinking. “Your sisters, how quickly could they get here or depart?”

Another arch look that Greg ignored. “One lives in Salam, the other lives in New Mexico. They could probably get here by Portkey, but they haven’t visited in years; Amanda wouldn’t know them well enough to go with them…or their husbands.”

“So, less likely,” Parker concluded. The SRU Sergeant rocked back on his heels, considering several avenues. “I’d like you to put together a list of people who your daughter knows well enough to trust and see if you can figure out if any of them have a grudge against you or your wife.” A stray thought occurred and Parker frowned. “Why hasn’t the Lost Soul Potion been used? I remember Madame Locksley offering to use it when Alanna went missing.”

A grimace. “It takes six hours to brew,” Simmons replied flatly. “Madame Locksley _is_ having it brewed, but it will still be another hour or so before it’s ready.”

“All right,” Greg acknowledged. “Please let my team know when it’s ready.”

Simmons nodded, but before Greg could open the office door, he asked, “Sergeant? If he knows her, does that mean she’s safe?”

Greg turned back towards the frightened father, a grim look on his face. “I’m afraid not, Auror Simmons. Even if he does know her, the fact that he took her…” The Sergeant shook his head. “The longer it takes us to find her, the less likely it will be that Amanda will be alive.” Simmons sucked in a horrified breath. “We’re doing everything we can, but sometimes…” Greg trailed off. “Sometimes even the best isn’t good enough.”

 

[1] Latin for ‘silence location’


	6. Another Missing Girl

He was gleeful as he watched the search continue. Not a single one of those fools was even _close_ to looking in the right direction and he was hard-pressed to keep from cackling at the sight of the patrol Aurors running in all directions, searching for _her_. _She_ was currently in his home, locked in a special room he’d prepared for any…guests. His ultimate location had yet to be completely ready, but another hour’s work and it would be done as well. That would be the site of the _Muggles_ ’ downfall, the place where he would _prove_ they were unfit for the magical world; he toyed with the idea of punishing them for their presumption, their arrogance when interacting with their _betters_. The idea had much to recommend it and he filed it away to use if he could. For now, he had arranged to appear quite busy and industrious whilst actually retrieving his second… _guest_.

With great reluctance, he turned away from observing the patrol Aurors and Apparated away to a…particular location. As he landed, he looked up at the building, a sneer curling his lip. The size of the building did take him aback, but it was simplicity itself to cast a small Notice-Me-Not Charm and stroll right in, past the jabbering Muggles to the corridors beyond. It took nearly an hour to find his _guest_ and he was rather annoyed as he finally spotted the girl. Younger than _her_ , but still with _her_ same grace and poise. He examined the area she was in, pleased to note that he could approach without being noticed. As he did so, he adopted a worried expression and a hurried stride. The young girl looked up as he crouched down in front of her.

“Who are you?” she asked, a cautious look in her eyes.

“I work with your father,” he informed her. “Your mother sent me to get you; there’s been an incident with your father.”

Alarm spread over the small girl’s face. “Daddy? Is Daddy all right?”

“You’d better come with me,” he told her, grave and solemn as he held out a hand.

To his chagrin, she drew back, eyes suspicious. “Show me your badge,” she demanded suddenly.

He almost cursed her right then and there, potential Muggle witnesses notwithstanding, but gave her a reassuring smile. “Cautious, huh? That’s good,” he praised, pulling out the credentials that he’d hastily conjured right before entering the school. He offered the credentials to her, hiding a smirk as she looked them over, before finally nodding and handing them back.

“My teacher?” she asked.

“It’s okay, I already talked to her,” he reassured the little girl.

He escorted her out of the school, the Notice-Me-Not Charm allowing them right past the still jabbering Muggles without so much as a second glance. Once they’d reached the street, he Apparated away with the child, a vicious smirk on his face.

* * * * *

Wordy sorted through the files that Sarge had quietly directed his team to; aside from Locksley and Simmons, none of the magic-side investigators knew Team One had been provided Auror personnel files. Half of Team One was now on the streets, hunting for Amanda, while the rest searched the files of Aurors that Amanda would have trusted enough to accompany. Without more clues, the search was bogging down, a bad thing if they wanted to get Amanda back alive. In another hour, the two groups would switch off, letting the patrolling Team One members have a break while the rested members hit the streets.

Examining the current file, Wordy made a few notes on his pad, more theories and observations than anything fast and hard. As he flipped through the file, searching for more concrete information, his phone rang. He pulled it out and answered without looking. “Wordsworth.”

“Kevin?”

Wordy sat up straight, file forgotten. Shelley and it sounded like she was crying. “Shelley? What’s wrong, honey?”

“Kevin, I’m at Claire’s school.” _Oh, God, no._ “She’s missing, no one can find her _anywhere_.”

A single, slow breath. “Shel, have you called anyone else?”

Shelley let out a sob. “No. I called you first.”

“Okay.” _Don’t panic, Wordsworth. Stay calm; do your job._ “Shel, stay there. I’m going to tell Sarge _right now_ and we’re going to hit the streets and find her. I promise.” Darned if he knew how he was going to keep that promise, but he was. “Lilly and Ally? Are they all right?”

“Yes, I have them,” Shelley replied, her voice still trembling.

Wordy slumped, relief that his other daughters were safe flooding him. “Okay. Okay. Shel, I’m going to hang up and tell Sarge, all right? I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

“Okay, Kevin.” She was crying again, that soft, sad sound that never failed to put the big man’s back up and his protective instincts in high gear. Feeling like a heel, he clicked the cell phone off and resisted the urge to hurl the small device across the room.

“Sarge?!?” he yelled, attracting instant attention from both his boss and everyone else in the room.

“What is it, Wordy?” Sarge called, hurrying over. “Did you find something?”

With hollow, haunted eyes, Wordy reported, “Shelley just called.” Sarge went still, his expression going blank. “Claire’s missing.”

* * * * *

“Winnie, make sure both Amber Alerts say that we believe they were kidnapped by the same subject,” Greg ordered, his voice icy calm, the fury and rage locked away…for now.

“Copy that, Sarge,” Winnie acknowledged, her own voice brisk and business-like.

Parker glanced around, checking the door to Locksley’s office to make sure no one had come in and disturbed the silencing ward. “Winnie, did the uniforms get anything from Claire’s classmates about the subject?”

“One of Claire’s classmates was close enough to spot him. She said he told Claire that he worked with Wordy and that something had happened to him. The subject also told Claire that her mother had sent him to get her.”

Greg paced, thinking hard. “Not identical,” he mused aloud, “But close enough. So, two abductions, two very similar M.O.s _in_ the abductions.”

“Sir?” Winnie questioned, “I thought we’d established that our subject knows the first girl.”

“We have,” Parker agreed. “When we catch him, I believe we’ll find that Claire does _not_ know our subject, but look at the rest of it, Winnie. Both girls were kidnapped from their classrooms; both were slipped out past their teachers; both went with our subject willingly. What does _that_ tell you?”

Winnie was silent for close to minute, considering. “The subject either has enough authority to be considered trustworthy or knows how to fake having that authority.”

“Exactly,” Greg confirmed. He sighed to himself. Just like back in Homicide, he had a sneaking suspicion of _how_ , now he just needed to figure out _who_. “Winnie, keep this part to yourself for now, okay?”

“Sir?”

“There’s a potion called the Lost Soul Potion that’s capable of finding someone, dead or alive, unless they’ve been cremated. To be perfectly honest, that’s what we _should_ have had several hours ago to help find Amanda, but somehow, the wrong ingredients ended up in the mix and it, well, it exploded in the face of the Auror making it.”

Winnie gasped. “Sabotage?”

“Yes,” came the frank response. “Some of the ingredients are rare enough that it’s going to be another ten hours before they can even start mixing another batch. So now we can’t use the potion to search for either Amanda _or_ Claire.”

“Do you think the subject is an Auror?” Winnie asked.

“I’m not sure, Winnie, but it _is_ suspicious, isn’t it?”

Winnie’s silence was answer enough, then she questioned, hesitantly, “Is Wordy staying at, uh, um…”

“The Auror Division?” Greg supplied.

“Yes, sir. Is he staying there or coming back to the station?”

With a heavy sigh, Greg informed her, “Constable Wordsworth has refused to be taken off duty. At this point, we need all hands on deck, so he’s still on duty. And that’s the other reason I’m calling, Winnie. I need you to go to the locker rooms and find the locker marked ‘special gear’. There are seven bags in there, marked with our last names. Get them out and have them ready for Eddie; he’s on his way to pick them up.”

“Copy that, Sarge.”

“Thanks, Winnie,” Greg murmured before hanging up. Eddie had orders to get back to the Auror Division as quickly as possible with the armor; his instincts were screaming that they’d need it sooner rather than later. With Claire on the line, his usually calm and steady constable was right on the edge; if Wordy encountered the subject…well, Greg wanted his constable to have armor if that happened.

The Sergeant looked through the window of Madame Locksley’s office, eyeing both fathers. Wordy was working, almost frantic in his movements, while Simmons was nearly attacking the parchment with his quill.

_I don’t know if you’re there, God, but please, keep those two girls safe…_


	7. Pureblood meets Tech-born

The nine-year-old girl was thrown into the room, her captor slamming the door after her; she heard several odd words from the other side and then her captor’s footsteps faded away. For almost a minute, she simply lay on the floor, trying to stifle her whimpers. At a touch to her shoulder, she jerked and rolled, away from the touch, only to stop at the sight of another little girl. For close to a minute, the two girls stared at each other. They both had light brown hair, they both had brown eyes, and they were close enough in looks to be mistaken for sisters. Though both were frightened and lonely, trusting someone they didn’t know was a daunting challenge.

“Who are you?” the other girl finally asked, cocking her head to the side, a challenging look on her face.

The nine-year-old sniffled, but put her head up and her shoulders back, just like her Daddy would have. “I’m Claire Wordsworth. Who are you?”

The other girl tossed her head, trying to look superior, but the superior look was lost on Claire. “ _I_ am Amanda Simmons, Heir to the House of Simmons.” Amanda surveyed Claire, a hint of smugness in her voice. “I’ve never heard of any Wordsworths, so you must be a Muggleborn.”

Claire crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Well, I’ve never heard of any Simmonses, so that makes us even. And I don’t know what a Muggleborn is, so I’m not one.”

Amanda rolled her eyes, looking just as unimpressed with Claire. “Yes, you are. _He_ wouldn’t have brought a Muggle here and I don’t know your family name, so you’re a Muggleborn. That means your parents don’t have magic, stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” Claire burst out, then her eyes narrowed. “You _know_ him?”

The other girl sniffed, her superior look evaporating. “I thought I did,” she admitted. “Then he brought me here and he won’t let me go home.” At the last word, Amanda burst into tears; she buried her face in her hands to hide from Claire.

Much like her parents, Claire was easygoing, kind, and possessed a generous heart. When Amanda started crying, Claire picked herself and went over to the other girl, sitting next to her and wiggling to the side until her shoulder was against Amanda’s. Amanda, more standoffish, curled in on herself when Claire tried to hug her, so Claire just kept her shoulder against the older girl’s and waited.

When Amanda’s crying died down to sniffles, Claire tried to cheer her up. “My Daddy’s on the bestest police team _ever_ ; he’ll find us.”

Amanda looked sideways at Claire, her eyes confused. “What’s a please team?”

Claire opened her mouth, then paused, considering the other girl. “My Daddy and his team protect people from bad guys,” she explained carefully, watching Amanda’s face.

Amanda lit up. “Your Daddy’s a Muggle Auror?” Then she turned smug, “My Daddy’s a _real_ Auror.”

Offended at the implied insult, Claire shot back, “My Daddy’s a better Auror than your Daddy is.”

Drawing back as if Claire had mortally insulted her, Amanda’s eyes flashed and she spat, “Your Daddy can’t be a better Auror, ‘cause _my_ Daddy has magic and yours doesn’t!”

Though Claire hadn’t missed Amanda’s earlier reference to magic, she’d thought it was just the other girl’s imagination. Now, she fired back with, “Magic’s not real, so your Daddy can’t have magic.”

Amanda stared at Claire as if Claire had spouted pure gibberish. “Magic _is_ real,” she protested, “I have it and you have it and _he_ has it.” She hesitated, aware that the Muggleborn in front of her had probably never heard that before. Her Daddy had once explained to her that Muggleborns didn’t find out about magic until they were eleven and Claire looked like she was even younger than Amanda herself. “When _he_ brought you here,” Amanda questioned, “Did it feel like you were pulled through a really small tube?”

Claire drew back, surprise across her face. “Yeah,” she remembered, “And it was like teleporting.”

“Fellyporting?” Amanda asked, confused by the word.

Claire gave the other girl a searching look, thinking hard. Then she asked, “Why are you getting words wrong?”

Amanda drew back, offended. “It’s not my fault you Muggleborns don’t use _proper_ wizarding words. It’s not ‘please’, it’s _Auror_ ; it’s not ‘fellyporting’, it’s _Apparating_.”

Claire bit back a sarcastic reply and instead snapped, “Lance and Alanna learned how to get words right, so you can too.”

With a haughty sniff, Amanda replied, “Well, _they_ must be half-bloods or Muggleborns, to get Muggle words right.”

“Nu-uh,” Claire retorted, “They got words wrong just like you are, so they’re like you, I bet.” Without waiting for Amanda to respond, Claire asked, “Can wizards turn into animals?”

Amanda was caught off guard by the unexpected question. “I think so; Daddy said they’re called Animagi.” Then she cocked her head to the side. “Why?”

“I think maybe Lance and Alanna can turn into animals. Mommy and Daddy were really mad at us when we snuck into the guest room one time; there was a bird and a big lion-eagle in there.”

Amanda’s eyes went wide with awe. “How old are they?”

Claire shrugged. “They’re older than me, but not as old as Clark is.”

“What’s their family name?” Amanda demanded.

Claire stopped, not quite sure. It took a few seconds to remember, then she announced, “It’s Calvin.”

“ _Calvin?_ ” Amanda sputtered loudly. “Daddy said _they_ told a whole group of Muggles about our world; _he_ says it was the worst day in the _history_ of magic when they came here.”

“Take that back,” Claire insisted, just as loud now. “They’re _nice_ _and_ they’re Uncle Greg’s _nipotes_.”

Amanda gawped at Claire, dumbfounded. “ _Your_ Daddy’s on _Team One!_ ”

“Yeah…” Claire agreed, very confused now, “How did you know that?”

“Daddy told me about them; they’re the first Muggles _ever_ to get real Auror badges.”

Claire was taken aback. “So, Lance and Alanna told my Daddy and his team about magic?” she asked.

Amanda nodded solemnly. “Yes. Daddy said they managed to convince his boss to let them catch bad guys _without_ magic.”

“Why is that bad?” Claire demanded, incensed at the insult to her friends and father.

The haughtiness was back as Amanda put her nose up. “It’s the magical world, stupid; you catch bad guys with _magic_.”

“My Daddy catches bad guys _without_ magic all the time,” Claire retorted.

“My Daddy says in the _magical_ world, you need magic to catch bad guys. Muggles aren’t _supposed_ to know about magic and Daddy says the Calvins’ Muggles are _ruining_ the Auror Division.”

“My Daddy’s not ruining anything!” Claire burst out, furiously. “I bet he finds us first.”

Amanda sneered at Claire. “Your Daddy doesn’t have magic; _my_ Daddy will find us first ‘cause _he’s_ got _magic_!”

The pureblood and the tech-born faced off, faces red and fists clenched. Then Claire got up and moved to the opposite wall; sitting back down with a huff. Her father wouldn’t be happy if she got in a fight with another girl, no matter how _mean_ the other girl was, so she was just going to sit here and pretend the other girl didn’t exist. At least for now…Amanda _was_ in the same spot she was in: alone, afraid, and very far from home.


	8. Suspicions and Instincts

As soon as Ed Lane arrived with Team One’s magical armor, Greg Parker called a temporary halt to Team One’s investigative efforts so his team could change into the armor and have dinner. Wordy attempted to protest, but Greg overrode him, reminding his constable that Claire would need her father at his best to help find her. Wordy gave in, but only long enough to scarf down dinner and change at near lightning speed.

The rest of Team One imitated Wordy, eating and changing as quickly as possible. Knowing that even _trying_ to hold back his team would backfire, Greg’s only requirement was that his team pace themselves, forcing them to take a five minute break each hour. If the search stretched into another day, he’d have to resort to more extreme measures, but for now, Greg Parker choose to give his team free rein.

With Claire’s kidnapping, Greg’s suspicions had taken a large jog upwards, but he still had no hard evidence to back up those suspicions. The coincidences and circumstantial evidence were stacking up; Greg was sure he was correct, but he had no firm suspects. The Sergeant sighed as he considered his notes and theories in the small office Madame Locksley was letting him use for the duration.

“Sergeant Parker, do you have a minute?” Madame Locksley queried from the door. The woman’s normally neat and tight bun was bedraggled, strands of hair slipping out to fall around her face.

Greg looked up, his appearance not much better than hers. “Certainly, Madame Locksley,” he replied, standing and following her to her office.

Inside, Auror Simmons was pacing, only stopping when Madame Locksley and Greg arrived. Without a word, Simmons threw up privacy wards on the office door as soon as Locksley closed it. He offered a list to Greg. “Here’s your list, Sergeant Parker,” he said brusquely.

Greg took the list, reading over it for several seconds. Then he looked up at Simmons. “And which of these individuals might have a grudge against you?”

Locksley sighed, drawing attention to herself. “That’s the narrowed down list, Auror Sergeant Parker. I have the initial list if you’d like to see it.”

Parker nodded thoughtfully, examining the list again. “Then this is a good start, ma’am. If none of these pan out, I may need the larger list.” He considered for several moments, then looked up at both of them. “Would any of the names on this list _also_ have a grudge against my team or Auror Wordsworth?”

Both Locksley and Simmons were taken aback. “Auror Wordsworth’s daughter? You think the two kidnappings are connected?” Locksley questioned.

Greg gave her a sardonic look. “Don’t you, Madame Locksley?” When they still looked confused…and skeptical, Greg shook his head, set the list down on Locksley’s desk, and began to pace, gesturing as he spoke. “Auror Simmons, you aren’t a fan of my team; I get it, you’re having a hard time with the fact that my team and I seem to be overturning tradition after tradition in a world that tends, on the whole, to _live_ by tradition.”

Simmons grimaced, but didn’t argue. “And your point?”

“At the same time, you are _also_ one of the Aurors who’s dealt with my team the most, after Madame Locksley and Brian Wilkins.” Thinking aloud, Greg concluded, “After Brian died, you became…not a _proponent_ of ours, exactly, but certainly less antagonistic towards my team’s magic-side involvement.”

Simmons reared back, finally following Greg’s train of thought. “You think that whoever kidnapped my daughter did it _because_ of my…” he paused, searching for the right word, “… _interaction_ with your team?”

“I consider it a strong possibility, especially after Claire was abducted in a very similar scenario,” Greg replied firmly. “No, I don’t think Claire knows her abductor, though I _do_ still believe that Amanda _does_. Aside from that detail, the abductions are _identical_. A unknown male, who claims to know the girl’s father and then escorts her out without being noticed by any adults, just the girl’s classmates.” Greg considered his audience, then kept going. “If I’m correct and the goal of _both_ kidnappings is ultimately to prove that my team isn’t fit for duty in the magical world, the next question becomes: who knew enough about my team to pick Claire out for abduction in the first place?”

Locksley frowned heavily. “Much of your team’s personal files on _our_ side is based directly off your tech-side files, Sergeant Parker. Anyone with access to those files would be able to discover Auror Wordsworth’s family information.” She cocked her head, considering her Aurors. “Now, those files _are_ restricted, but, in theory, they could be breached.”

“But,” Greg countered, “A member of magical law enforcement is much more likely, ma’am. Not only did they have access to Auror Wordsworth’s file _and_ enough trust built up that Amanda went with them willingly, they _also_ managed to sabotage the Lost Soul Potion.”

Simmons jerked at the reminder; the Auror who’d been brewing the potion had ended up in the hospital when the potion exploded in her face. He considered Greg’s points carefully, then inclined his head. “I agree, Auror Sergeant Parker. Add all the facts together like that and not much else makes sense. Which just leaves one final question…”

“Who is it?” Greg finished for him. Sighing, Greg hefted his notebook in his hand and placed it on Locksley’s desk. “That’s the question I’ve been spending the last few hours on and I’m no further than when I started. Any number of Aurors aren’t happy with my team’s Auror status and that’s just the ones that have actually _said_ something. There could be more who _haven’t_ spoken up.”

Madame Locksley had picked up the narrowed list of Aurors who knew Amanda and had grudges against Simmons and was reading through it, her gray eyes narrowed. “Simmons,” she said sharply, turning the parchment towards him. Pointing to a name, “Are you sure about him?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Simmons replied, confused. “We used to get along quite well, but after Brian died…well, it’s not been the same since then. I thought maybe he blamed me.” The Auror hung his head; clearly _he_ still blamed himself for Wilkins’ death.

“May I?” Greg queried carefully, not wanting to jostle old wounds any more than necessary. Madame Locksley nodded, underlining one name on the list before handing it to Parker. Greg’s eyes landed on the name and he inhaled, sharply.

* * * * *

_“So, how have things been between you two since you started liaising with us again?” Greg inquired._

_Brian Wilkins sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “Not all that good, actually,” he admitted. “He thinks I’m betraying our people by supporting a group of Muggles staying in our world.”_

_“Even after everything that’s happened?” Greg questioned, surprised._

_Wilkins’ laugh was bitter. “As bad as I was in the beginning, he’s worse. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a decent Auror, but there’s a reason he never made Senior Auror. Not open minded or flexible enough. Which is odd when I think about it…he_ lives _in a Muggle neighborhood.” Brian was silent for several moments, then quietly, “Greg?”_

_“Yes, Brian?” Greg gave the Auror his full attention – Brian had_ never _called him by his first name before._

_“When I retire, I already have an idea of who should replace me, but I don’t want to keep the name in my office; I think someone’s been going through my desk.”_

_“So you want me to have the name?” Greg questioned, confused._

_Brian shook his head. “No offense, Greg, but you techies are still vulnerable to spells like_ Obliviate _. No, I have a safe place in mind, somewhere that no one will find the name of my successor. But, well, I want_ you _to have the key to finding it…just in case.”_

* * * * *

His eyes still locked on the name, Greg murmured, “Brian mentioned there was still some friction between them; I thought it was just normal friction between coworkers.” He looked up at Madame Locksley, face pale. “Where is he?”

Madame Locksley rose to her feet, her eyes snapping with fury, her wand drawn. Simmons drew his own wand with a furious growl. Greg let the parchment fall to the desk and reached for his sidearm, but did not draw it. The three left the office and headed directly for where their suspect should have been.

“Where is he?” Locksley demanded of a young Auror in the office they reached.

With a confused expression, the young female Auror looked up at Madame Locksley. “He’s out, conducting interviews. He left not long after you called Auror Sergeant Parker into your office.”

Greg backed up, keying his radio. “Team, listen up. Good news: we think we’ve identified our subject. Bad news: he realized we were onto him; he’s in the wind.” His gaze snapped to a pale Madame Locksley and he demanded, “Where does he live? We have to find him before he hurts the girls.”


	9. Finding the Girls

Two elite teams of Aurors, the best Ministry cursebreakers Madame Locksley could find in less than ten minutes, and a host of patrol Aurors descended on a small house in a Muggle neighborhood. The two elite teams set up on either side of the house, muttering to each other balefully as they eyed the house; the wards on the building were nasty enough that Locksley insisted on letting the cursebreakers bring them down before any entry was attempted.

The cursebreakers, just as indignant as the Aurors, took up positions around the house and began to chant, their voices rising and falling as they countered the building’s wards with precise motions of their wands accompanying their casting. The wards themselves appeared as soon as the chant began, flickering defiance as the chanting continued. In the dim, cold night, the flickering provided the only light to see by; clouds hid the moon and stars, nearby streetlamps went dark as magic flexed in the air.

Auror Kevin Wordsworth focused on the house, a father’s rage pulsing through him. In the desperate scramble to deploy and arrive before anything happened to Claire or Amanda, Sarge hadn’t had time to tell them _who_ they were after, just that it was a fellow Auror that Amanda, Simmons, and Locksley knew and who was also someone the late Brian Wilkins had known well. That his daughter had been kidnapped to get to _him_ rankled with the big man and just made him angrier. His jaw tightened so much that he could feel his teeth grind, but he didn’t relax, just shifted, ready to move.

With a muted _crack_ , the wards fell; Sarge signaled his team an instant afterwards. They surged forward, angling for the front door, Ed and Sam carrying the ram. The pair swung the ram into the door, breaking it open in moments; the rest of Team One swarmed into the house beyond, their yells echoing off the walls and clashing with the yells coming from Simmons’ squad.

“Auror Strategic Response Unit; hands in the air, weapons on the ground!”

“Hands, let me see your hands!”

“Aurors! Get down on the ground!”

Wordy spotted a door off the main hallway and threw himself at the door, shoulder first. The door gave under his weight, opening to reveal what looked, at first glance, like a study. Wordy swept the room with his eyes and felt his breath catch. “Sarge! _Sarge!_ I found something!”

Sarge appeared at his shoulder, peering into the room. The man’s stunned silence spread as Simmons and Locksley also appeared, staring in horror at the massive collection of pictures in the study.

Adding to the horror, neither of the girls were in the small house.

* * * * *

Simmons gawped in horror, even as Parker paced and glared at a set of pictures that, according to him, were copies of pictures in his team’s lockers at their station. Never could the Senior Auror have imagined something like _this_. The images, while innocent enough, were proof and evidence of a long standing, simmering cauldron of jealously, hatred, and pure _evil_.

Simmons focused in on one picture of himself, his wife, and his daughter at a local magical park. Amanda laughed in the picture, dancing with him in their customary father-daughter playtime. That _he_ had been there too, watching his daughter, fantasizing about her…it made Simmons’ blood boil.

“He’s been planning this for awhile,” Parker announced grimly, having moved on from his pacing to search the study’s one piece of good furniture: the desk. “Maybe even from before Brian died; I just found the address for one of Brian’s sisters in Sault Sainte Marie. She has a little girl about the same age as Amanda and Claire.” Simmons looked over as Parker hefted what looked like an ordinary journal, the disgust on Parker’s face clear as he glanced through the entries.

“Dear Merlin…” Simmons breathed, running a hand through his hair. “What else have you found.”

Parker sighed heavily, setting down the journal and tapping a folder he’d pulled from one of the drawers in the desk. “Before he died, Brian asked me to hold onto what he called a ‘key’ for finding his choice of successor; he suspected someone was going through his office. After he died, I turned the ‘key’ over to Madame Locksley, but she couldn’t find anything…I just did.”

Turning, the Auror moved over and looked at the file Parker had found. He recoiled in renewed horror. “He hid this so _he_ could choose the new liaison!” Simmons burst out, outraged.

“Possibly also so that my team _wouldn’t_ be assigned a new liaison; we _have_ been having some trouble with the patrol Aurors lately.” Parker sighed again, looking up at the images plastered on the study walls. “You, Brian, and my team; looks like he’s been stalking _all_ of us.”

“But why?” Simmons cried, staring again at the pictures of his daughter, “Why would he do that? He’s an Auror; we’re not supposed to _do_ things like this.”

He felt Parker’s hand come down on his shoulder and turned to look at the stocky Sergeant. “I wish I had an answer for you, Auror Simmons; I really wish I did.” Parker scanned the images, looking utterly discouraged. “Aurors or cops, we’re still human, Auror Simmons. Sometimes, instead of protecting, a cop goes bad or _is_ bad, right from the start. That’s why we have Internal Affairs, because, in the end, who watches the Watchman?” There was a moment of silence. “And sometimes, no matter how careful we are, they’re just that good at blending in, Auror Simmons; they slip right under our noses until something like _this_ happens.”

* * * * *

Wordy paced, feeling frustrated, helpless. The girls _had_ been here, detection spells had confirmed that much, but the subject must have figured out the jig was up and come back long enough to move the girls. Something at the corner of his vision moved and his head jerked around; the large constable peered through the window of the house’s small kitchen. A light of some kind moved in the distance and Wordy frowned, drawing back. After a moment of thought, he slipped out the back door and jogged across the lawn, angling for where he’d spotted the light.

As he drew closer, he saw what looked like a squat, ugly marble building with a set of stairs leading downwards. The constable drew his sidearm, turning its small flashlight on as he approached the steps. A flash of red caught his eye and he knelt, expression going grim as he spotted several drops of blood on the steps. Wary, he descended the steps, sidearm up, safety off; at the bottom of the first flight, he frowned as he realized he could go either right or left.

Though his instincts screamed for him to find his daughter, he forced himself to take the time to pull out a small pocket knife and scratch a crude mark in the wall to mark his position for any of his teammates following. Then he took the left steps down, wary and cautious in his movements. At the next landing, he repeated the procedure, then, again, took the left steps down. The darkness around him deepened and, even without magic, he could feel the malevolence of the place, practically swirling around him. The third set of stairs led to a large room, deep underground with an eerie, macabre alter and a set of grotesque statues around it.

The alter looked like it had claws growing out of each corner, curling up, their points gleaming in his flashlight’s beam. The statues looked like they were in agony, curled in on themselves and contorted in positions he _hoped_ weren’t possible. As he entered, something crunched under his boots and the husky constable looked down, only to grimace at the sight. Rat skeletons, lizard skeletons, and several other small animal skeletons he didn’t want to identify were under his feet and scattered around the room.

Wordy scowled and began to scan the room, sweeping his sidearm from side to side as he moved, attempting to keep the rock walls behind him. A flash of something that wasn’t bone caught his eye and he moved towards the flash, hoping, praying; his breath caught in his throat as he moved. Two sets of brown eyes looked up, their owners cringing a little as Wordy accidently shined the light in their eyes. Wordy let his breath out all at once as he crouched in front of both little girls, relief flooding him. “Easy, girls, you’re safe now,” he soothed, getting close and taking a good look at the pair. Dirt and grime marked their little faces, blood spotting the older girl’s face. The younger was frightened, but physically unharmed.

Movement made the big man whirl, bringing his gun back up, and he gaped at the figure that stood in front of him, malice in the figure’s eyes and an odd, triumphant gleam. The figure smirked, lifting a wand with a single, casual motion.

“You,” Wordy gasped.

The figure laughed, high and piercing. “Me,” he confirmed smugly. Then he aimed his wand, roaring, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Wordy’s sidearm yanked itself out of his hands, flying past the figure into the wall. “ _Percutio!_ ”


	10. Accidental Magic

Wordy brought both vambraces up, grinning fiercely as a brilliant blue light appeared in front of them and absorbed the curse. His opponent gaped at him, shocked, and Wordy took full advantage, lunging and going for an uppercut.

“ _Depulso_ ,” the other man snapped, hurling Wordy sideways into the altar. “You think you can challenge me?” he demanded, sneering. “You’re just a _Muggle_ , _Constable_ Wordsworth.” Anderson spun his wand, almost lazy in his movements. “So, your pretty little set of goblin armor can take _Percutio_ …I wonder if it can take _this!_ _Crucio!_ ”

Wordy didn’t have time to get his vambraces up before the spell hit and then his world dissolved in pain; he screamed involuntarily, unable to move, or fight back, or even curl into a ball. It felt like his entire nervous system was on fire and he writhed under the torture spell as his opponent laughed, high and cruel. As his screams echoed off the crypt walls, both girls wailed in terror.

* * * * *

Greg Parker jerked around, nearly crying out his constable’s name as he felt raw pain slam into him, buffered, thank God, by his meager magical core. Still, he staggered into the wall, attracting Ed’s attention at once; the team leader flew to his Sergeant, bracing him as Greg panted, fighting the instinct to curl up and hide from the waves of pain flowing through him. “What’s wrong?” Ed demanded, eyes intense.

“Wordy,” Greg gasped out, “Wordy’s in trouble.” Trouble was an understatement as his constable’s agony hammered at Parker, taking his breath away.

Ed’s eyes went wide with fear and he snapped around, searching for any sign of his best friend. “Guys,” he called on the comm, “Find Wordy… _NOW!_ ” The team leader had to snap back around to catch his Sergeant as Parker’s knees gave, the Sergeant suffering under the Cruciatus Curse just as much as Wordy was, though thankfully not quite as intense. Grimly, in spite of the agony, Greg clung to the ‘team sense’, determined to find his constable.

* * * * *

Claire’s mental dance of victory that _her_ Daddy had found them first was cut short by _his_ appearance and now – now her Daddy writhed under a magic spell…as helpless as Amanda had told her he would be without magic. But Amanda didn’t look triumphant or smug, she looked furious.

“Stop it!” Amanda shrieked loudly. “That’s an Unforgivable; STOP IT!” She launched at _him_ , grabbing at _his_ wand and crying out herself as the spell hit her for a few seconds. With a snarl, _he_ backhanded Amanda, knocking her back into the corner. Claire’s Daddy, still twitching and jerking from the evil magic, tried to crawl forward to put himself between the girls and the bad, _bad_ man. Claire, sobbing, wanted to go to her father, throw herself in his arms, and know that everything would be _just_ fine, but she knew it wouldn’t be. Her Daddy didn’t have magic, didn’t even have his gun. So the little girl closed her eyes and _wished_ , with all her heart and with all her soul and with all her strength, that her Daddy had a weapon to fight the bad man with.

* * * * *

It hurt, oh, Lord, it hurt. But if he didn’t do something, Amanda and Claire were as good as dead and he’d rather die himself than let them get hurt. So Kevin Wordsworth crawled forward, stumbling to his feet and jamming his thumb on his radio. “Sarge, Sarge, I found them,” he croaked, only to hear…nothing. Not even static; he looked down at his radio and realized…it was dead and he was on his own. Wordy swallowed, but forced himself forward, staggering in between the two little girls and their abductor. “Leave them alone,” he rasped, as loudly as he could, bracing his feet and curling his fists.

Laughter rang out again, mocking him. “Do you understand _now_ , Wordsworth? I can do anything I want to them and _you_ can’t stop me!”

* * * * *

Magic is an odd thing…it seems, at times, to follow no rules of physics, no rules of science, only limited by a witch, wizard, or Wild Mage’s imagination. But magic, just like anything else, _does_ have rules, _does_ have limits. Thus, though the Narnian weapons given to Team One by the goblins _were_ magical, they could not act by themselves, could not simply disappear from one location and reappear in another.

But the magic used to forge them, used to weave the protective spells and runes was powerful, ancient, and based on the Deep Magic of Narnia. Born out of Love so great as to be unfathomable, the Deep Magic sensed Claire’s desperate plea on her father’s behalf and acted. Her fledgling magic mixed with the magic in the weapons and they began to glow before vanishing from their place in a flare of light blue. And if, for a moment, the echo of a Lion’s roar was heard, well, Someone was looking out for both father _and_ daughter.

* * * * *

When the sheer agony died down, Greg finally got a fix on Wordy’s position and yelled to get his team’s attention. The entire team bolted out of the house, following their Sergeant, who raced for the nearby crypt at an all-out run, gun drawn and murder in his eyes.

* * * * *

Anderson sneered at Wordsworth, twirling his wand high and cackling anew at Wordsworth’s utter _helplessness_ in the face of _real_ magic. He debated which spell to use next, then froze as blue light cascaded around the _Muggle_. When the light faded, Wordsworth had a sword and shield in hand and looked just as startled as Anderson felt.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Anderson snarled, angling his wand at the new weapons. They didn’t even twitch, making Anderson draw back, stunned and finally a touch fearful. “ _Accio_ **(2)** sword!” Again, the sword didn’t even twitch.

Wordsworth snarled and lunged, sword coming down right at Anderson’s wand. The wizard pulled back, whisking himself out of Wordsworth’s path and sending another _Depulso_ at the constable. Wordsworth brought the shield up, blocking the spell, and the fight was on.

Magic lit up the chamber as Anderson fought, harder than he’d ever imagined he’d have to fight against a _mere_ Muggle. Wordsworth blocked most of the spells Anderson flung at him, never more than a step or two behind the rogue Auror, forcing him back with that gleaming sword that _reeked_ of Old Magic. After a minute or two, Anderson realized that Wordsworth _wasn’t_ going for _him_ , he was going for his _wand_. The very thought outraged the Auror and he dispensed with the milder Light spells, snarling, “ _Sectumsempra_ **(3)** _!_ ” at the Muggle. The shield, _reeking_ just as much as that bloody sword of Old Magic, blocked his curse yet again and Wordsworth’s next swing missed Anderson’s wand by a hair.

“ _Enough!_ ” Anderson bellowed, leaping away from the Muggle and landing in the crypt’s doorway. Turning, he sneered at Wordsworth. “Truly, I am…almost impressed… _Muggle_. Were you magical, I would have been pleased to fight at your side. But – ” Anderson sneered again, “ – sadly, you are not and never will be. Good bye, _Constable_ Wordsworth.” His wand tip glowed a vivid green and he snarled, “ _Avada Keda…_ ”

“ _Stupefy!_ ” rang out and Anderson had a moment to wonder who had found them before the spell impacted his back and he fell.

* * * * *

Wordy cringed, well aware that there was no magical block for the Killing Curse, but at the second shout and Anderson’s collapse, he blinked in surprise, then shifted, peering into the gloom beyond the lower level of the crypt he, Claire, and Amanda were in. A man stepped in, pale as he looked down at his former colleague. The wand in his hand aimed toward the rogue Auror and disgust was already entering the newcomer’s eyes. Behind the newcomer, Wordy heard the rest of his team clattering down the steps of the crypt, skidding into the room only to halt and stare at what they’d found.

In the light from Sarge’s flashlight, Giles Onasi swallowed hard, looking down at the fallen Auror Anderson; then he looked past Wordy to the two little girls, both of whom were now clinging to the tall, husky constable.

“Easy, girls,” Giles whispered, “It’s over…you’re safe now.”

 

[2] Latin for ‘I summon’

[3] Latin for ‘cut always’


	11. Epilogue

Amanda clung to her father, who was actually crying as he held her. Claire, similarly, was wrapped in _her_ father’s arms, still sniffling over seeing him get hurt by that _creep_ , Auror Anderson. The Muggle Auror was twitching every so often, a remnant of the Unforgivable he’d been hit with. For that _alone_ , Anderson would have been on his way to McKean Magical Prison, but added to the kidnapping and attempted murder charges, it meant that Anderson would never see the light of day again. Now Amanda had a front-row seat to her father doing something she’d never _dreamed_ he’d do; arguing that he should be the new liaison for Team One.

“We can’t let something like this happen again,” Nathanial Simmons argued. “And Auror Wordsworth nearly _died_ protecting my daughter, Madame Locksley; to ignore that would be churlish of me.”

“Nathan, I understand where you’re coming from, but the last thing Team One needs is a liaison who’s only in the position out of a sense of _obligation_ ,” Madame Locksley replied, her voice tired, but sharp. “You’ve _never_ approved of Team One and once the shock of this wears off, I fully expect you to go right back to not approving of them.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Auror Sergeant Parker put in, his expression grave, “But it _would_ get in your way as our liaison, Auror Simmons. I agree with Madame Locksley; we need a liaison who’s behind us all the way.” Parker sighed, his eyes flitting down to Amanda, tucked under her father’s chin.

“After the past several weeks, I find myself understanding your position, Auror Simmons. I’m glad my team has been able to work magic-side and help you stop a number of criminals, but if your division gets too dependent on my team, that’s not a good thing. As it is, this may just be the straw that breaks Holleran’s back; he’s been demanding an explanation for some time now.”

“Leave that to me, Auror Sergeant Parker,” Madame Locksley remarked, her eyes intense. “My division has been dropping the ball, so this is _my_ mess to clean up. I’ll see about assigning a new liaison as soon as may be.”

“About that, actually,” Auror Sergeant Parker remarked, rocking back on his heels, “When we were going through Auror Anderson’s study, we found a file Auror Wilkins put together before he died…with his recommendation for his replacement.” Amanda’s eyes went wide as the Muggle offered a folder to Madame Locksley; had Auror Brian _really_ picked his replacement for them?

Madame Locksley inspected the folder for a long minute, examining the contents and parchment within. She sighed softly. “He always _was_ very good at anticipating things.” She looked back up at Auror Sergeant Parker. “What do you think?”

He shrugged at the question, but cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know him well enough to really comment, but I trust Brian’s judgment. If Brian thought he’d be a good fit with my team, that’s enough for me to give him a chance. But it’s his choice.”

“Quite,” Madame Locksley agreed, walking to the door and calling for an Auror to come in.

He came in, eyes darting around the room, wide with curiosity. “Yes, Madame Locksley?”

“You’ve met Auror Sergeant Parker before?” Madame Locksley inquired, gesturing to the stocky man with a Muggle ball cap on.

“Yes, ma’am,” the Auror confirmed.

“We’ve finally located Auror Wilkins’ recommendation as to who should be the next liaison for Team One.”

The Auror’s eyes went wide. “Me?”

“If you’re willing,” Auror Sergeant Parker put in, expression gentle, even if his eyes were intense.

There was a silence in the room as the Auror looked around, clearly expecting protest or disagreement from Amanda’s father; he remained silent. The Auror considered, his gaze darted between the two Muggle Aurors, Claire, and Madame Locksley. Finally, the brunet Auror stepped forward, offering his hand to Auror Sergeant Parker. “Don’t know how good I’ll do, but I’m willing to try, Auror Sergeant Parker.”

The Muggle’s smile lit the room, Claire’s father smiling as well. Auror Sergeant Parker shook his new liaison’s hand, looking pleased. “Welcome aboard, Auror Onasi.”

 

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And cut! Hope ya'll enjoyed the wild, twisty ride and had a great Thanksgiving. While I very much appreciate all the comments for this story, I'm always eager for more. If ya'll are willing to comment on last chapter's fight scene, all the better! I can always improve and feedback helps a great deal.
> 
> The next story, "Explaining Magic", will kick off Tuesday, November 28th, 2017.


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